


A Regular Pint-Sized Atom Bomb

by MercuryPilgrim



Series: Atom Bomb, Baby [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Bonding, M/M, Mac is a shortass, Nicknames, SS is kind of an ass, Slow Burn, They deserve to be happy dammit, sad dads club, the slowest of burns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 15:03:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8406259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryPilgrim/pseuds/MercuryPilgrim
Summary: "Man, she's anything but calmA regular pint-sized atom bomb"
Because you know MacCready is touchy about his status as a short-ass.





	

MacCready had come to realise, in the weeks following his meeting with his new employer, that Grey was kind of an asshole.

“Uh, how about go fuck yourself?”

MacCready had to stop himself from laughing at the acerbic response, and it got even harder as he watched the man they were speaking with frown.

Grey had his arms folded, his face a sneer and his eyes cool.

The settler floundered. “But please, they’re my prized mutfruit seeds!” He whined, and Grey remained unmoved. “I need them!”

MacCready snorted. “Why do you need us?” he asked, tilting his head. “Did raiders take them, or was it a deathclaw?”  
  
The settler fiddled with his shirt. “Well, no…” he admitted. “I think it was a molerat.”

Grey blinked at him. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I _definitely_ don’t care. Now, if you were to perhaps give me a reason to give a shit… Say, some caps?” he said with that cocky, sharp grin MacCready was starting to look forward to seeing.

* * *

 

“Hey, here’s your share.”

MacCready jumped and fumbled with the tin of caps that Grey tossed to him. “What?” he said dumbly, and he felt his cheeks heating up when Grey gave him a look he took to mean the Vault Dweller thought he was stupid.

“You were the one who actually put a bullet in that molerat.” He said idly, lighting a cigarette with a flick of a match. “So you get a share.”

MacCready gave him a flat look. “If I did the work, shouldn’t I get _all_ the caps?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Grey smirked, his cigarette between his fingers.

“Well, I was the one who got us the job in the first place. Call it a manager’s fee.” He drawled as he took a drag, “I’m your manager now baby, welcome to showbiz.”

“Cute, boss.” The mercenary muttered, stowing the tin in his pocket. “Don’t call me ‘baby’, that’s fu- uh, it’s weird.”

“You know, god ain’t gonna smite you if you say a bad word.”

MacCready snorted, fixing his hat to sit lower on his face. “If he isn’t smiting me for all the other stuff I’ve done, I highly doubt he’s going to care about some curses.” He muttered, a little grin on his face. Grey returned it.

They were quiet for a time, and MacCready found it was comfortable.

“So if I can’t call you ‘baby’, what can I call you?”

Mac sighed, adjusting the strap on his rifle, a grimace on his face. “How about my name?” he muttered, tone dry.

Grey considered. “Nah. What _is_ your name, anyway?”

“MacCready.”

“Yeah, I got that bit.” Came the dry response, and another drag on the cigarette. “What’s your first name?”

“The Incredible.”

There was silence for a moment, and MacCready had to look up to check his employer wasn’t offended by his evasion. Grey was grinning at him, his expression sharp and shrewd, and MacCready winced as he waited for whatever annoying comment was coming.

“Y’know, I like you.” Grey said simply, and MacCready blinked. “You’re shifty little bastard, but you’re alright.” He smiled.

MacCready felt something warm settle in his stomach, and his lips twitched into a reluctant smile. Grey was kind of an ass, but he was growing on him, and-

“S’why I’m gonna call you ‘The Mini-Merc’, and not something _really_ shitty.”

MacCready took a second to process that, and he scowled. “The hel- heck you’re gonna call me that!” he snarled, hands balling into fists.

Grey smirked, and MacCready wanted to hit him.

“I think it’s cute.” He murmured, “And fitting.”

MacCready felt his face heating up. “I’d hit you if I didn’t think I’d get a papercut.” He snarled, “It ain’t fittin’ at all!”

Grey’s eyes glittered. “Sure it is, Mini-Merc. You’re _little_.” He cooed, and MacCready couldn’t find words to convey his disgust. He walked faster. “I hate you.” He muttered.

Grey caught up easily, due to his longer legs. MacCready ground his teeth. An arm was slung over his shoulder, and the merc felt his face redden even further. “Don’t touch me.” He muttered, squirming and wriggling free. Grey tutted. “Hey, don’t be like that, I was only messing.”

MacCready took a steadying breath and turned a glare on his employer. “Yeah, well… don’t.” he managed. “Besides, I ain’t that small. You’re just a freak.”

Grey chuckled, and he kept his distance. “Well, that’s the truth. Fine, if you don’t want me to call you Mini- Uh, call you that.” He said, holding his hands up under the force of a withering glare. “Can I have your real name?”

There was a pause, and MacCready considered. “After you being such an ass, you don’t deserve it.” He mumbled, scowling. He continued quickly as Grey opened his mouth again. “But since you won’t shut up otherwise, my name is Robert. Robert Joseph MacCready.”

Grey’s expression seemed to soften, and that was almost worse. MacCready started to feel uncomfortable under the silent look.

“That’s a good name.” Came the words he hadn’t expected to hear. He looked up, surprised. “It’s nice.”

MacCready didn’t know what to say. “Yeah.” He managed lamely, “I guess.”

“My last name is Skye.” His employer murmured from around the butt of his dying cigarette, the end glowing red like a hot coal.

MacCready paused, processing the unexpected overture of information. “Uh, that a good name too?” He paused. “Wait, you’re first name isn’t actually Grey, is it?” he asked, narrowing his eyes. His employer looked away, the faintest hint of embarrassment on his face. “Uh, yeah.” He muttered, “And yes, I know what-“  
  
“Your name is Grey Skye?” he could help but laugh, and he relished the pink on the others cheeks. “That’s fuc- frigging priceless!” He cackled.

Grey’s lip curled, and he took a defensive drag of his cigarette. “And this is why we don’t have moments.” He muttered, sullen. 

MacCready’s laughter died down into chuckles. “Okay, sure. You don’t call me… that stupid nickname, and I’ll not call you by your stupid _real_ name, right?” he said, adjusting his hat. Grey sighed. “Fine, but I want to give you a nickname.”  
  
The merc sighed, “Why?”

Grey looked at him, and it was oddly guileless. “Well, I give all my friends a nickname. I dunno why, but I always have.” He said it like it was obvious.

MacCready paused. Grey thought of him as a friend? MacCready wasn’t sure he could say the same.

"Depends on the name.” he managed, fumbling in his pocket for his own book of matches and a cigarette. “Your track record is less than stellar.”

Grey thought for a moment, “What can I do with Robert...?” he wondered under his breath. “How about Bobby?”

The merc gave a negative sounding grunt as he lit his match, the cig in his mouth. The sun was going down as they trekked over the broken roads, and MacCready hoped that they would reach somewhere safe by nightfall. He hated travelling at night.

“Bob? Joe? Dick? Wait, that’s Richard. Uh, how about Robbie?” Grey sounded out, bouncing ideas off him and thinking up new ones just as fast as they were shot down like falling vertibirds.

“I’m gonna call you Mac.”

He looked up, and rolled the name around his tongue for a moment, bouncing it around his brain. He shrugged, brushing off the vaguely warm feeling about being given an honest-to-god friendly nickname. He’d never had one before.

Grey gave a lopsided, crooked grin that made the merc quickly look towards the horizon. “Fine, whatever.” He grunted, cheeks pink. He pulled his hat lower.

There was silence between them, save for the sound of gravel crunching under their boots, and the half-deadened sound of gunfire from a long way away. MacCready tried to find it using his binoculars, but couldn’t, meaning they were probably safe. He spotted a shack on a hill, half crumbling and judging by the state of the ruined, dead plot of tatos, deserted. “We should stay there tonight.” He muttered, handing the binoculars to Grey. “Looks okay, and it high enough that I can keep a good watch with my rifle.”

“Sure thing, Mac.”

* * *

The atmosphere was weird by the time they reached the shack, which was thankfully free of any unpleasantness. They shot a bloatfly outside in the tato patch, and thankfully that seemed to be it. Inside was bare and dusty, but there was a door that worked, an ancient fireplace and two mattresses, one of which was mouldy. “That one is yours.” Grey snorted, poking it with a booted foot. MacCready rolled his eyes. “Funny boss, but no.” He muttered, and listened to the soft pitter patter of light drizzle on the tin roof. It seemed water tight enough save for a spot in the corner that was dripping into a rusty bucket.

The vault dweller was rooting through his pack with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and that left Mac to secure their little fort against the elements and the fauna that might be trying to kill them. When he was done, he flopped on the only serviceable mattress, and yawned. “We got any food?” he asked, rolling his shoulders to get the ache out.

Grey nodded. “We got… molerat meat, molerat meat or… 32 ounce Kobe beef steaks?” he looked up with a gasp, before his face fell. MacCready didn’t get it. “Oh wait, that’s still just molerat meat.” He drawled, and sighed as he brought out their haul. “Good job it was fuckin’ fatass molerat.” He grunted, tossing the meat to Mac, who gave him a look. Grey glared. “Go on then, chef-for-hire.” He said, grumpy. “Food me.”

Mac snorted, but took the meat anyway. “Sure, how about a nice steaming bowl of ‘screw you’.” He managed, around a yawn. “I got three carrots and two tatos. I can make something with this.” He shrugged, and got out his little pot and pan to cook with. He got a fire going and was engrossed in his cooking until he happened to glance up. Grey was staring at him.

“What?” he asked, defensive. “I got sh- uh, stuff on my face?” he asked, race heating up as he tucked into his stew.

“I didn’t know you were so touchy about your height.” His employer murmured, his gaze changing to stare into the fire and picking at his own meal.

MacCready lowered, his head, staring into the fire. “Yeah well… It ain’t easy being s-short, not in places like this.”

Grey nodded, a ghost of a smile on his face. In the flickering firelight, he looked almost sad, his perpetually messy mop of hair in his eyes, and his sharp features thrown into almost absurd relief. “Yeah, I get you.”

“Do you?” MacCready was sceptical. If Grey was any less than six foot one, he’d eat his rifle. The man chuckled softly. “With a name like mine?” he reminded, and the merc shrugged, uncomfortable. “Kids at school never let me forget that.” He grinned. “Besides, you’re what, five seven, five eight? That’s not too short. You’re a skinny little fuck though.” He teased, amused. Mac gave him the finger.

They sat in silence for a while, and Mac felt sleep dragging at his eyelids. Grey glanced over and his face softened. Or, MacCready thought drowsily, it was just a trick of the light. Grey wasn’t a soft man. “I’ll take first watch.” His employer muttered. MacCready wasn’t in any position to argue with how he was cracking his jaw as he yawned, and shuffled over to the bed, removing his hat and rifle and not much else. As he lay there, inhaling the scent of dust and fire smoke, his hand drifted to his breast pocket, inside his duster. His fingers closed on a small wooden solider, worn and smooth from years of handling. He closed his eyes, his back to the fire and his employer, and willed himself to sleep.

“G’night, Mac.”

“Night boss.”


End file.
